


Dear Fellow Traveler

by Sai_Cannopy



Series: Colors Flying High [1]
Category: Bayonetta (Video Games), Devil May Cry, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Universe - Bayonetta is the Mother, Characters tagged will have more prominence or changes compared to canon, Except Futaba, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Persona Cameos & Additions, Phantom Thieves have demons instead of Personas, Work In Progress, props if you find out who is best boi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 19:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sai_Cannopy/pseuds/Sai_Cannopy
Summary: Akira Kurusu never knew his true parents. As far as he is concerned, they're dead, and there's nothing to be done for them. It seems like life wants to make his life miserable, because it doesn't end at not having parents.Or is it for the better?A Bayonetta is Joker's Mom fic feat. V from Devil May Cry.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Colors Flying High [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536158
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Dear Fellow Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, here's an actual WIP AU that's totally not a huge crossover with the world's shittiest summary. Just like most of my work, don't expect it to update on a regular schedule, but probably expect whiplashes of different tenses, tones, and writing formats too.  
I'd like to be clear on this: while Royal will play its part, I'm lucky that most of the stuff I had in mind can work and won't be spoilers for the actual new characters (what like, two Confidants). Bayonetta content won't be spoiled - as of right now, can't promise during interactions - and DMC5 too for the most part. If there is, they'll probably be vague. Besides, y'all who're excited for Royal got some months to work with, and I won't even be done by the time the game comes out (when am I ever). Try to find easter eggs from the Q series and the fighting games; if you've kept up with the series entirely, you'll find them. Just not yet. (BtwtherewillbeacertainsunglassesmanandifyouhaventcheckedoutP4AUImsosadforyouyourmissingoutononeofthebestboispleasecheckitoutforbestboicontextandcontentbecauseullseehim.)  
I'm sorry if characters aren't in character; I'm trying with second-hand knowledge and I REALLY don't feel like watching some hours worth of cutscenes just to understand characters compared to having to rewatch cutscenes to remember WHAT happens when. I might have to, though, hopefully when the semester ends, as the Persona 3 cast does come into play much more than the other games (save for a certain travelly boi).
> 
> Okay that's probably all I need to say so uh yeah here we go I hope you enjoy this as much as I will for like the first couple of days.
> 
> And yes, Vergil is important here too for only one you're thinking of and some others you're not thinking of.

The sirens never stopped wailing as Akira returned from that wretched courtroom, emotionally sick and mentally ripped apart. Home from a court case so skewed against him, the ravenhead wondered if he was still alive or if the prospect of probation over jail had killed him. ( _ As if. That man destroyed everything, even the teen’s reputation; probation could not save what little was left. He was now a box with a sticker slapped on saying “Send to Tokyo” and nothing more. There wasn’t even a  _ FRAGILE _ reminder, just  _ SHOOT IN CASE OF EMERGENCY  _ carved in bold, crisp cursive right on his forehead. _ )

But where was he? Was that door home? The vases seemed almost like the one the judge - _bloated ugly faceless white striped _**_guilty_** \- had next to him, smelling of perfume his wife must’ve used all over herself. The browns and whites of the walls and furniture mixed too much to his liking, so no, he wasn’t home yet. He must be at the mailbox, ready to be shipped on Saturday. But not before his “parents” decided that they, too, were juries. No way could Akira call them his parents, who all but abandoned him at the podium. That light that shone down on him, calling and spitting and throwing tomatoes that ultimately ruined his life? They shone it deep into his skull; he was sure there was residue in between his nails and into his nostrils.

Although, in a way, he was right - Akira Kurusu was not their son. Adopted, he had been told at a young age, probably around his sixth birthday. A rather harsh awakening, but it didn’t seem too far off when the woman was blonde, tanner than him, and able to see perfectly. The man at least needed glasses and supposedly had black hair, but that was in the lack of sunlight; in reality, he was just a dark brown with skin less pale than Akira’s. Every aunt and uncle of theirs made it feel like the teen was either an accessory or a burden, judgement from all except, miraculously, his grandmother of the man’s side. (Once she was gone, there was no barrier to brutally ravishing a child’s security amongst their children, expressively expressing no lack of guilt for damning his self-care.)

Those sirens returned with a loud blare as his fa- the man scolded him like a father would to a child, except far more grating than before. “You’re just like that witch of a mother, causing trouble just by existing!” He screeched, smacking his already bruised face harder with a newspaper. The man leaned in close, a tight grip on Akira’s hair to bring him face to face with the Minotaur. “I thought we raised you well, to be a good child. But all I see is you  _ spitting in our faces! _ ” The boy was smacked across the face harder, most definitely ignoring the blatant signs of  _ Stop, please, this is Abuse! _ “Didn’t realize you liked to be around disgusting whores like that  _ wrench _ . Should’ve pulled the plug when I first saw you with her!”

Was Akira in that politician’s place, hitting his head against the steel traffic barrier in the form of having his head bashed into a fist? Perhaps, but at the very least he did something  _ good _ compared to the damn harasser. The matter here compared to there was that  _ she  _ was being  _ wrongfully accused _ . The boy didn’t speak out on her behalf, though; she wouldn’t have cared much, and she would’ve smacked him for trying to defend her image despite not truly knowing her. (Yes, she was right, but the ravenhead was so sure that she held the key to something in his life, so he deliberately ignored Stranger Danger and headed on in.) He let it all happen, listened with deaf ears as he was berated, smacked, and spat out back into his room to, at the very least, “get comfortable for the last time.”

“I don’t care what happens during your probation. Don’t care if you act like the sweetest angel or the scum of the earth that somehow birthed you. You are not coming back. You’ve shamed us so much, I can’t even look at you.” The woman disdainfully told him as two suitcases appeared on the bed. Not something he could call his anymore. “I knew I should’ve listened to [REDACTED]. She’s always right.” (The boy never bothered to commit family names to heart, only secluded himself in family events.) And she was out, away from his last bit of protection before he was finally rid of it.

Akira didn’t bother with waiting. As soon as she was gone, he got to work silently.

Later, hours after he had monotonously detached himself from every piece won, bought, given, or made for or by him, before neatly folding clothes as small as he could in order to place each in a puzzle-like fashion into the suitcases, Akira realized he had to at least pack his toothbrush, toothpaste, his hairbrush - too many essentials. Could he reasonably carry that with him? Perhaps his backpack could carry such, as he doubted he’d go to school on the day he landed at Tokyo. Money wouldn’t be an issue for now, so long as he stayed in line and didn’t bother his sponsor. He’d find work, although housing and schooling would be its own issue after his probation. Most likely he’d be on the streets as soon as the year was over; still troubling was school.

Damn it all! Akira couldn’t stop damning the boy of the past, who decided to protect a woman who just backstabbed him just for her own sake. Ultimately he didn’t truly regret it nor would he take the action back, but couldn’t he have gotten a better outcome? Perhaps just some kick to the bastard’s ass? That politician deserved it, too! Why?! Why did no one believe him, when it mattered most? (“ _ I’m innocent! Believe me! _ ”)

‘ _ Enough of that _ ,’ Akira quickly berated himself, punching his head as a reminder of his position. ‘ _ What’s done is done _ .’ And so he quietly returned to his duties of stuffing his personal items, throwing out his (he really needed to stop using possessives in this house) toothbrush as well as any photos that wouldn’t do well to keep.

The door, which was closed at some point, slammed open, revealing the woman once more. As the boy tried to regain his senses from the shock, a roll of garbage bags was tossed at his bed. “Throw out anything you’re not taking. I want this room spotless when you leave.” She turned on the spot, door closing softly compared to the loud opening. A small dot was present on the once-spotless wall, a mark of the handle’s lock smacking against it. Despite his emotional exhaustion and his newfound apathy to the world, Akira couldn’t help the gratefulness that bubbled up; it saved him the trouble of seeing his fa- (‘ _ Damnit, he’s not your father anymore! _ ’) the man in all his disappointing glory.

Akira let out a long, depressing sigh. And he wasn’t even out for the delivery man to take to Tokyo yet.

* * *

Dinner hadn’t gone as bad as Akira thought it could’ve that night. Instead of having to walk the distance down the stairs after such a dreadful time throwing emotional attachments into white, crisp trash bags, there was a plate left next to the door. Cold white stew, yes, but far away from either of the two beings he once called parents. It saved him awkward, disappointing lectures or any more small talk that could be scavenged; it furthered him from the ripped, emotional ties he might’ve had left with them. Was it normal to feel the floor cave in on you as you struggled to remember your once-guardians’ names?

It didn’t matter in the end. Anxiety pervaded his sleep to make up for that silent, lonesome dinner, forcing him to close the window blinds to hide from the night sky. White walls closed in as he tried to recover, finally contemplating the fears of what life would be like during and after probation. 20 Questions became the name of tonight’s game. Was his breath quickening, no matter how much grabbing at his futon would unsuccessfully bring him back to reality? Or was simply the sight of his phone, filled with text messages stating their disgust and unwillingness to be associated with him, dragging him away from it? No matter. His pleas for some assistance went unnoticed, and once more Akira wished he had gotten her number. She could’ve helped.

_ ‘Or maybe she would’ve denied you like everyone else,’ _ his mind mocked him, never letting his anxieties rest. It was wrong, but what if..?  _ ‘Oh, she would’ve joined with them! Said not because of her, but because of your stupidity! It was  _ your  _ choice, nothing she encouraged!’ _ No matter how ridiculous his distressing line of thinking was, it seemed to make the most sense. Funny enough, it distressed him enough to sleep, headache from his tears ripping at his skull to seek the nightmares to keep everything at bay.

He awoke, although still extremely tired from a ticket to a night’s worth of hell, to the aroma of breakfast. Simple steamed rice with umeboshi and dried mackerel - a favorite dish, now soured with the memories of the past week. (God, a week for one decision that made nothing right.) Personally, the teen was delighted by the lack of needing to make food, that his guardians wouldn’t see another disgraceful appearance made by yours truly. It saved the remaining face he had left - or what would or could be left, depending on how school would go.

A clap of his hands, a quiet “Itadakimasu” followed by quick, clean gobbles. Despite the disappearing taste as each piece of mackerel (three, surprisingly, as the duo never liked to give more than two pieces of fish) slid down his throat. Despite the struggle to swallow the chopstick-full lumps of rice. Despite the gob of umeboshi refusing to follow the rest of the water trying to force it down. Despite the emptiness of the kitchen as he placed his dishes in the sink, ignoring the glare of his father as the teen quickly booked it to his room to grab his supplies for the day.

It didn’t let him outrun society’s eyes on his boxed self.

As soon as he plopped himself down onto his selected seat, his neighbors scooted some inches from him. It was audible, a distraction to Akira, but the teacher - he forgot her name, too, in the rush of the week - kept going, glaring briefly at him as if he was the problem.

That was the only source of interaction he received that was  _ somewhat _ direct. Quotations on  _ direct _ .

“Shh! He’s coming!”

“Damn,  _ he _ did that? What an asshole.” 

“What if he was insane all this time?”

“Can’t believe I was friends with him….”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be here starting next week.”

“Oh my gosh, really? Do you think we’ll be safe from him  _ then _ ? What if-”

“Don’t go near him! He might smack  _ you _ into a wall. Or worse!” 

“What do you think goes on under that face? I think he’s planning on murdering us!” 

“Shh, he’s looking this way!”

“Act natural!”

“Act natural!”

Act natural. Act  _ natural _ .  _ Act  _ ** _natural_ ** .

For some reason, those words resonated within his weary soul. Natural, adjective. Existing in or caused by humankind, according to his phone’s dictionary. For a note to be neither flattened nor sharpened. In fishing, an insect to be used as bait. Skin-wise, to be a creamy beige. In gambling, to be that instant winning score.

It wasn’t Akira. No matter how natural his reaction felt that night, it really wasn’t according to mankind. That was not of the Order. Instead, the teen had walked right off the line that stopped the abnormal and became one of them. Fate was never kind, but perhaps this was the right decision they had made. Keep the unnatural away from normality, and everyone would be safe. Even if that unregrettable decision was the most normal, natural action in Akira’s eyes. But no matter -

He was a shipment in twenty hours. No one would care. In Tokyo he would disappear, be eaten by the flies infesting the city, and become dust in the wind. His story would start in Sumaru City, a place filled with supernatural stories and of little success, and come to an abrupt end in 2018, all the way in Tokyo where success boomed in many eyes. A fitting end for someone who didn’t follow the act; natural selection at its finest.

Once more mumbled chatter filled his ear. “Why is she going near him?” One voice managed to bypass the buzz first, and it’s his first warning before he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Looking up revealed one of the only kind teachers in the school, Takami Saeko. “Everything going alright, kiddo?” She asked, unaware that her face was slowly fading from reality.

“Ah,” Akira replied dumbly, shocked and terrified by the slipping of details.  _ ‘Not her! No!’ _ “I-I’m alright, Takami-sensei.”

There was only a frown left, the rest obscured by a white mask that slowly covered her eyes, leaving an outline left. Was she angry? Upset? Disgusted? Oh, why was reality working against him!? “Sure,” Takami said, her tone final yet obviously knowing of his lies. Somehow she always knew when he was lying; if it were any day other than today, she’d ask how like always, getting that vague “I know what you don’t know” line before tutoring began.

“Eat your eggs, Akira-kun. They’re slipping.”

They were. “Ah, sorry,” Akira mumbled, throwing them into his mouth. Right, lunch. Forgot about that.

For the rest of lunch, Akira kept his head down, not wanting to see the upside-down smile and the red mask on his beloved teacher (as that was their relationship, not as family as dearly as he wished to be). The murmurs and rumors continued, but the loud chatter of the cafeteria drowned the chance to mingle somewhat. Well, on his behalf - Takami kept at it, but what could he reply with?  _ Yeah, I pushed the guy so the woman who knew what was truly going on, the true victim, would stab me in the back for trying to help her _ ?  _ Sorry, the rumors are true _ ? What wouldn’t make the whispering grow louder and keep the woman safe from him?

The bell rang before the teen made his decision. “Goodbye, Takami-sensei,” the ravenhead managed as he quickly - maybe with a little too much desperation - pushed himself far from the table, closing up his lunch box from who knows where in the process. With the speed of a snail in the eyes of his deteriorating sensei, Akira left his teacher’s sights and returned to normal speed once he did so.

All throughout that day, teachers whom he had spent time in their office hours to understand what he was missing, stayed up all night to make sure projects were done well, ultimately got on their good side, simply looked the other way, their faces becoming blank, boring canvases. Why cover their eyes? Why were their mouths the only facial feature left? Was this that curse that all the adults spoke of that occurred years ago, before his birth? But Akira said nothing. He soldiered on, stoic yet wearing a comforting smile that edged them away from him.

Once the final bell rang, the ravenhead booked it, unable to take his final chance to prove his innocence to a… “friend”. He couldn’t, not with faces meshing together as colors blurred to become two or three per person, and his frantic mind provided his anxiety-ridden body with the worst of questions. _ ‘They know, don’t they?’ _ It whispered, gripping his throat without a care.  _ ‘They knew all along, but! They didn’t want to tell you.’ _

“Shut up…” Akira whined, trying to regain his sense of self and direction. He had taken a left to leave the bathroom, right? Or was it to leave the classroom?

_ ‘You can’t tell yourself to shut up when it is yourself telling this! What an awful contradiction~’ _ A croon began to worm itself in, a disgusting honey-tasting lie that he knew was false but it just felt right. No! No, focus! He needed to get ho-  _ ‘But that’s not home, Akira. Home is where the heart is, and here is not it at all. Why not just off yourself and make -’ _

“AKIRA, WAI-”

_ GONG! _ Bone collided with something metal, something hollow, absolutely painful. Stars appeared when trying to open his eyes, making the world a mesh of colors instead of the muted sepia it was slowly becoming. A slender hand held his back as his own clutched at his forehead, eventually coming to cover his eyes briefly. As aggravating and embarrassing as it was, Akira found that this was the best that had happened all day today. At least the masks couldn’t be seen from the darkness.

Eventually he would need to get up. Thus the ravenette did, slowly opening his eyes to recognize his current position. He could thank the person later, as now he knew where he was: barely outside the gate doors. His head had banged against one of the poles, thankfully not leaving an impression nor breaking his glasses. Upsetting, but he was grateful nonetheless. Now he was (unfortunately) grounded to reality where faces peeled off to reveal masks and white skin, where there was

“Jeanette-san…” Akira wordlessly gaped, unable to stop his surprise from leaving him.

Jeanne, or Jeanette as he called her when he forgot her name (probably due to her stunning looks). A grey-haired European lady who knew how to walk and talk - and beat rhinos and cat callers while she was at it. They had accidentally become friends when he was younger, talking and eating cakes that the wonderful elderly lady across the school made for a living. They bonded further when he was bullied for only a week some year into their friendship, her presence and her prowess throwing the assholes away.

And then she promptly beat his ass in, telling him that he needed to prove to them that he wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing. A lovely year that had been, hiding bruises from a duo who already hated her and called her a devil once he had gotten into a swimsuit, forgetful of the previous night’s injuries.

Sometimes he forgot how stylish she could be, like today. All dressed up in a red… jumpsuit dress? What was Western fashion these days… But it worked, and  _ wow _ he forgot that her heels always made her taller and a looming tower. The same red heels that seemed off as always, without change. No purse that held a weird disc nor long hats that screamed of wealth, but what made up plenty was the small sports car that always seemed ironic to him parked in front of the gate. (The teen had seen her get off a plane in the middle of a park, and she had the gall to say otherwise!)

The woman sighed, kind exasperation written all over her. “I told you, darling, to call me Jean, nothing more,” she reminded him, her accent already driving him insane enough to want to switch to English. Smile still on her face as she shook her head, she returned to look him in the eyes, care so deep within them unlike everyone else’s slipping off. “Let’s head off to {BEEP}, shall we? You look like you need it.”

_ ‘What was {BEEP} again?’ _ “S-sure.” Anything to get away from the crowd.

* * *

“Welcome to- Oh, hello, Jean-san!” Fujimoto Hiraku, owner of the Alpacchinos cafe, called out to them. When he noticed the teen, he added darkly, “I see you brought our little troublemaker along as well.”

Jeanne raised an eyebrow at him, clearly curious of what Fujimoto meant. Akira ignored it with great pain, going to the owner with his order in mind. “A long black. Grande, please.”

All throughout the car ride, Akira had staved off the inevitable Talk, hoping they wouldn’t arrive at a place that would recognize him. (Or they could just meet everyone who knew him!  _ Great _ .) If she asked about how his day was, he talked about his experience from two months ago. He censored the past month, instead remarking on the project he turned in the week prior to his arrest. When asked about how life was outside of school, the teen lied about his interest in the chess club, using that woman’s history with being her school’s best chess player as partial motivation. Otherwise, he was “looking up colleges to go to”, “texting friends to check out when they could hang out again”, and bullshit he didn’t bother remembering.

If Jeanne knew he was lying, he didn’t know, as he preferred to look outside the car door. “The scenery is nice,” he would’ve said in defense in case she called him out. But it never came up.

Until Fujimoto brought up what he wanted to bury for the day.

The moment they sat down in the red booth surrounded by fake flowers - aloe vera and lavender, judging by the smell and their obvious features - Jeanne pounced, already knowing her prey was caged into answering her. “Troublemaker, hmm?” She said, a playful grin already at the forefront. “Last time I checked, you were the most darling angel out there.”

Akira scowled, already feeling the day’s smothered irritation building up. “They’d all say that if you asked them.” ‘ _ Stop lying to yourself, Takami-san would’ve believed you. _ ’ “It’s bullshit, anyways, and even if you tried fighting for me, you’d just be looped in with this shit.”

The other blinked, her smile gone in the surprise before morphing into a pitying frown. Weirdly it grinded Akira’s gears more than he’d like to admit. (‘ _ Where the fuck was that pity when the judge was calling me guilty without a proper defense?! _ ’) “I’m sorry. Didn’t expect I’d hit a nerve,” she apologized, before continuing. “I’d heard that - quote on quote - ‘a minor had harassed a woman to the point that a rising man tried to interfere, only to lash out and hurt the latter’. Searching further only told me that that boy was being put on probation, and that he was a second year.”

If Akira’s laugh was  _ maybe _ a little crooked, well. He’d blame the weather, even if it wasn’t that bad. “And Fujimoto-san confirmed for you.” ‘ _ God, I hope he slips off a step and cracks his head open. _ ’

They briefly stopped as one of the waitresses came to their booth with their choice drinks, which they drank to fill the silence. It gave Akira some respite from the damned Talk, soothing some of his frayed nerves. Looking back, he had to at least give her the benefit of the doubt; she at least  _ investigated _ both sides before vocalizing her own opinions on the matter. A blessing he’d take before it would inevitably backstab him for thinking better.

“You’re innocent.”

The teen choked in surprise, coughing as he pounded his chest. She didn’t speak as he tried to regain himself, only watching. Yep, that was her alright: willing to throw surprise at him without even thinking of the consequences. (Even if it meant being kept in suspense and almost hurting himself accidentally.) “B-but I didn’t even tell you my side!” He cried out before slapping his hand over his mouth. Whoops, too loud.

Jeanne chuckled sadly. “Kurusu, you’d put yourself in harm’s way before anyone would even hurt a fly.” She looked down briefly, seeming to be in guilt- “I only wish I was there to help.”

Oh. Akira looked down as well. “It wouldn’t have mattered, Jeanette-san. They would’ve found me guilty anyways.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t have if I was there.” And there she went on a tangent, talking of how she’d do a better job than whatever lousy defense he had been provided. Something about connections with the Detective Prince - “Not that hack they keep throwing up!” - and select individuals in the police force who would love to work with her on this case. Not letting an adult get the upper hand on her precious kit. There was a slip somewhere there, but she worked herself up too much and too fast for him to ask on it.

It at least let him smile, knowing that at least someone was going to care for him.

By the time they finished and left, Jeanne demanded that he stay with her before he had to leave the following day. The teen didn’t even get the chance to fight back as she drove to his house, asked him for what he needed, and, after taking his suitcases and bags for the thrift store, drove him to her apartment.

Her apartment was located a couple of hours from the nearest Sumaru airport, looking nothing and everything like he’d expect of Jeanne. Each room was nice, tidy, and white, holding little of substance yet giving such a beautiful view of the sky uninterrupted by buildings. (Benefits of being rich, he supposed.) There were no pictures or decorations anywhere, but, much to her embarrassment, her clothes littered around her bedroom and the long-since spoiled food made up for the lack of anything.

Before he could remark on the bloodied bandages that he found in the bathroom, he saw her drag his bags

And throw them in the guest room.

“W-what are you doing?” Akira sputtered, arms reaching out to grab the bags so he could try to stop her. Clearly that wasn’t working, as she used her damn heels to cower him back. “I-I-I mean, thank you, but-”

“I’m not letting you throw a single thing out.” Her eyes were soft yet determinedly hard. “You’re not going to fool me - you were going to start planning post-probation and not ask me for help, weren’t you?” He couldn’t deny it; it wasn’t like he was going to stay nor afford a home in an expensive place like Tokyo.

She sighed, fingers covering her face as she muttered something in that strange language of hers before ruffling his hair abruptly. Even though the teen yelped and tried to get her hands out of his hair, it was half-hearted in his attempt. That plaguing voice of his was delightfully silent; at least he could be happy with the little bit of love she gave him before his inevitable hellish probation.

“You’re too good for this world, little one.” Oh, that was a new one. “I wish I could’ve done better for you, but…” The woman bent down on one knee, moving her hands to cup his face. “If you find that it’s getting too stressful, call me. I won’t always be there, seeing as my job constantly calls for me, and I certainly can’t steal you, but I’ll try my best to be there for you.”

He felt tears drip and slide down his cheeks as he rushed in to hug her. The fear of jail, the anger at his current situation, the betrayal by his friends’ immediate distrust, that crippling worry of being a disappointment to Jeanne - it came crashing down hard as he finally let out pained sobs in the wake of the only trustworthy person in the world. Finally,  _ finally _ he could let out that stress and not feel society try to strangle it out.

‘ _ Whoever is out there, _ ’ Akira prayed for the first time to fate’s ruler. ‘ _ Thank you _ .’

* * *

Jun cursed as his grip tightened on the phone, the flowers doing nothing to soothe him. “I thought that Fujimoto-san would give him the benefit of the doubt. I guess I was wrong,” he grumbled as he quickly pushed his shoulder into the phone to hold it in place. “My apologies, Jeanne-san.”

“ _ Just keep it to Jeanne, please. Only Akira can call me that. _ ”

Life had certainly changed since 1999. Gone were the days of ignorance, instead haunted by the reminder that his Tatsuya was gone, his friends so far away and out of reach, and Nyarlathotep, although banished, was still out there. It didn’t take a genius to realize that something was instigating those terrifying, powerful gods to act against humans. (At least those who knew of the demonic god.) At the very least  _ his _ life had settled down to something of relative peace away from the fights and near those who needed it.

‘_If only _**someone** _was there for her damn son._’ The florist doubted that would be the first nor the last he’d wish the damned witch would realize her strength and circle and _take him back_.

Instead he asked, “Is he doing okay? I know how Seven Sisters can be when they find a bullying good target.”

“ _ I wonder why you haven’t adopted him yet - you could get away with it, too… _ ” He winced, both in discomfort and at the anger hidden in her words. “ _ From what he hasn’t told me, it doesn’t seem like anything good. Not sure about the teachers _ .”

“Knowing Takami-san, she probably was there for him.” Oh, how Yukino  _ praised _ the woman like a goddess. While he thought she was  _ far _ from a goddess, he gave credit where it was due - she gave a damn about her work and, in extension, the children. A good woman through and through. “How about right now?”

Jeanne laughed softly. “ _ He’s sleeping like a log, although I’ve heard him wake up a couple of times. Doubt that’ll be the end of it. _ ” There was a noise, probably her shifting upwards. “ _ I want to kill that asshole _ .”

“I’m not bailing you out of that.”

“ _ They won’t know what’s coming - Umbra witches care for their family, no matter what _ .”

Neither commented on the open jab at her Umbran sister.

Instead, he drifted to another curiosity that begged to be satiated. “How’s it like to fight with Dante? Heard he’s an ass to work with.”

Jeanne was obviously irked, judging by the harsh sigh. “ _ Goddamn bastard’s a cockier Cereza - no, he’s the  _ definition  _ of cocky. Nero’s a hothead, but I’d probably take his recklessness over Dante’s stupid cockiness any day. And the innuendos… _ ” Another audible sigh. “ _ The worst part is that those two  _ thrive  _ off each other. They’re insufferable _ .”

“Makes me glad none of my fellow Persona folk aren’t as terrifying or annoying as your lot.”

“ _ I’m not sure if you’re looping me with that idiotic bunch, but I’ll take it as a compliment of  _ not _ being like them. Although I must admit, you Persona users are much more bearable than them. Save for that Shadow and his bear puns. _ ” Something pinged with a marked rumble on her side. Clearly it wasn’t what she wanted to see, as she sighed in annoyance before apologizing, “ _ Have to go. Someone’s acting like a chicken without its head, and knowing her she’ll do more harm than good. _ ”

“Is dear Cereza _finally_ acting like a proper caring mother?” Jun chuckled at her annoyed hiss. Maybe he might have mother issues, but whatever; Bayonetta deserved it. “I’ll let you go then, Jeanne. Please don’t tear her a new one - I want her son to punch her.”

“ _ Not if Madame Butterfly gets her soul first _ .” ‘ _ That bad, huh. _ ’ “ _ Good night. Ugh _ -” And with a beep, the line broke.

Jun exhaled deeply, blinking upon realizing his order had become something else. Clearly he was thinking of Akira over his client, as the flowers cried out their concern and wishes for the teen’s safety.  _ Definitely _ not the roses his client wanted.

Well, he was going to see Akira tomorrow regardless, and work didn’t start until Monday. Even if the flowers weren't going to be kept, at least the boy would have some comfort. He had time, he had time.

‘ _ But you don’t, Bayonetta. _ ’

**Author's Note:**

> I deeply apologize for those who are fans of Jun, Jeanne, and Takami; I'm running off of wiki understanding of characters and we all know that goes.  
Two fun facts: the Jeanne nickname was because I... forgot her name. Internally I added the -tte and took out an -n because it really has been that long since I looked at Bayonetta at all. It still works and I'm happy with it.  
The other is Jun was originally going to be in Takami's spot, but I changed it today (seriously; did more research and decided no, it didn't feel right). On one hand I feel a little upset because I wanted him to be a little more direct in Akira's life, but on the other hand he's a florist! And, now that I think about it, what is one of Akira's jobs? Flowers! Plus the obvious thing of being related to the Kurusus but that just made it a mess and the kid's already got enough on his plate.  
Anyways, this is the last we'll see of these three, you might see one of them return when the first palace finishes.


End file.
